Catfight
by Doctor Harley Quinn
Summary: SCREAMINGwhispers' challenge. Batman isn't immune to mistakes.


**Catfight**

By Eccentric Banshee

The characters belong to Christopher Nolan, Frank Miller, and the creators of Batman. I only own the dialogue, or anything you don't recognize from somewhere else.

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Challenge – Created by SCREAMINGwhispers

_Option #1 – Batman vs canon villain. Must contain the quote "Pain is a great motivator, isn't it?"_

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Well, this is something new.

I've fought an insane clown, a shrewd psychiatrist, and a reincarnated sociopath. In my day-to-day life, I've taken on reporters determined to find a juicy scoop of gossip, a certain vicious, bald billionaire with an aspiration towards politics, and diplomats with attitude. This, though, is something entirely different. All of those previous enemies, with the exception of one or two of the reporters, were men.

This is most definitely a woman.

I watch silently from the neatly cut hole in the skylight, trying to get a firm idea of her movements in my head. She's statuesque, the lithe muscle on her frame made even more obvious by the tight, purple—yes, _purple_—suit that she wears effortlessly, with feline grace. The application of the word 'feline' is quite appropriate. A mask covers most of her face and all of her hair, cut off below her nose to show her mouth and chin, with holes for her eyes—and, from the pointy ears and whiskers said mask sports, as well as the sharp-tipped gloves covering her hands, it's very obvious that she's dressed as a cat. Although I'm quite sure I've never seen a purple cat.

I can't help but hesitate for a second. As of this moment, I've never been required to hit a woman. My father instilled a sense of chivalry in me very early on in my life; seeing the way he treated my mother just reinforced it. I know very well that many women are quite capable of taking care of themselves, but respect from the opposite sex is generally appreciated and, as my father insisted, is their due.

But, even as my more humane side chips away at my resolve, that dark voice in the back of my mind speaks up, overriding the sudden flash of indecision. I'd made a commitment. This was more important than anything I'd ever done, and this woman had made her choice the second she'd slipped illegally into this museum. As usual, Batman's voice wins out.

Now, she's plundering the cases, quite as if she has a right to. She must have taken care of the alarm system earlier, and I don't see any guards—perhaps she managed to drug them, or maybe she just paid them off. It's not my job to figure out how she did it; my job is to stop her.

So, carefully, employing the grapple gun to save my shins unnecessary trauma, I lower myself into the museum, taking care to be quiet. Even as I tie off the line, I'm debating with myself whether to just attack her from behind or whether I should give her fair warning. Bruce wins _that_ argument, at least—almost everything in me resists attacking a strange woman with no warning.

So, finally, I speak. "Lose something?"

I'm very sure she hadn't heard me enter, but she still doesn't react to the sudden voice. Very slowly, she straightens up, and deliberately, she turns around. She's tall for a woman, elevated even higher by her boots. To my well-hidden surprise, she smiles at me. "I was wondering when you'd show up," she says, and her voice is sultry, calculating. "After all, I couldn't very well make my debut without the infamous Batman arriving to slap my wrist."

Well, she's not scared. That means that she's either very sure of herself, very crazy, or very good at hiding her emotions. I carefully look at the black leather bag she'd been pushing several items of incredible value into, and then glance back up at her. "I think you should put those things back and walk away." Let it never be said that Batman is unfair.

She laughs. This woman actually _laughs._ "Or what?" she asks, a shade of disbelief in her tone. "You'll attack me? Of course you will." She drops the bag on the floor and spreads her hands, facing me solemnly. "I'll make you a deal, Bats." _Bats? What's this woman on?_ "If you fight me… and _beat_ me, I'll leave the things behind and crawl away to lick my wounds. If I win, I get to keep my stuff."

Yes, now I'm definitely leaning more towards the _very crazy_ theory. She's tall, yes, and she looks strong, but she's no match for me. "How about this?" I ask, taking a step forward. She looks at me with mild interest, not intimidated into moving back. "_When_ I beat you, I handcuff you and leave you here for the police to find. You get to go to jail."

"So cocky," she murmured, a smile slipping onto her face. "But I'm ready for you. Let's see what you've got."

I pause for only a second. She's literally asking for it. Banishing any more apprehension I might feel with a twitch of my shoulder, I lunge for her.

And my hands close on thin air.

I turn quickly to find that she's standing right where I had been just a second ago, her eyes sparkling merrily. _Damn, she's fast._ "Is that _all?_" she asked, affecting disappointment. "I'd expected a bit more than that. You looked like an old—"

I move quickly, taking her by surprise this time, and manage to graze her jaw with my fist before she darts aside again. This time, I don't let her out of my line of vision, turning tightly to follow her and landing a blow to her ribs. She literally hisses, and, as I grab her arm, lashes out. I feel a sudden, searing pain across the bottom of my face, the part exposed by the cowl.

Hell. I hadn't realized that the claws at the tips of her glove were so sharp. I can feel the blood start to run, and somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice quietly lets me know that I'm doing something wrong. I don't have time to figure it out, though, as she aims a knee and I deflect it with my own, driving a fist into her stomach.

She stumbles backwards, held upright only by my firm grip on her arm. Encouraged, I follow through, letting her go in order to land a solid crack across her face. She twists back, somehow managing to look graceful even as she falls. She doesn't get up.

I free some cuffs from the belt. She'd shown the potential to be dangerous, but in the end, she'd gone down as hard and as fast as the rest of them. A part of me, the more bloodthirsty side, is disappointed that it was over so soon.

I stoop at her side, reaching for her hands. Suddenly, I'm party to a chinful of her heel. My skull rattles and my teeth clack together; she definitely put some force behind it. As I reel back, struggling to regain my balance and stand up, she rises in one fluid, graceful movement, looking down at me. Her mouth is bleeding, and she smiles at me.

"I was going to just play with you, but… pain's a great motivator, isn't it?" she asks before she attacks again.

I've risen again by this time, and as we duke it out, I realize what I've done wrong. I underestimated her. Even as I dodge another scratch and drum a few hits to her kidneys as she tries to spin away, I abuse myself for my stupidity. I've never made such a big mistake before, but the second a woman shows up on the scene, I automatically assume that she won't know what she's doing. _Foolish, Bruce. Very, very foolish._ I decide that it's a bad sign that the inner voice has taken on a very familiar tone—the one Rā's al Ghūl used constantly during my training.

I have to admit, she's not some inexperienced thug. I just barely manage to jerk my head away as she tries to dig a claw into my left eye, and she quickly tries to take advantage of it by putting in a blow to my stomach. She comes away with a hiss of pain; apparently, she hasn't noticed just how protective the armor is until now.

She ducks the fist intended for her head, and, stepping back, moves into a spin-kick. No more underestimation. I see it coming and catch her by the ankle, intending to break her foot. She's fast, though, realizing the danger and jerking back with incredible force. She rips away and tumbles backwards, but before I can take advantage of the situation, she's up again.

"You're not even _trying,_" she says in disappointment.

"How do your ribs feel?" I growl, pouncing again. She dodges and I land, balanced, twisting to keep my eyes on her. She giggles softly.

"Just fine, thank you." She feints to the left, then to the right. "When you get back to the hole you crawled out of, you might want to look at those scratches. Wouldn't want them to get infected."

She feints to the left again, and then darts around my right. I whirl to follow, but not fast enough—I feel a sudden weight on my back, her claws scratching at my face, her hissing in my ear. She can't see what she's doing, so the cuts are shallow, but that'll change at any second.

I don't try to pull her off. Instead, I get a better idea. I grab her gloved wrists and fall backwards.

Bingo. She realizes what I'm doing, but can't get away, my grip on her too tight. I land solidly on her, hearing her wheeze as the sudden weight lands on her torso. I'm reluctant to crush her, though, knowing the amount of damage that could do, so at the last second I let go of one of her wrists and use my freed hand to deflect some of the force.

_She got the wind knocked out of her, at least_, I guess as I shake off the impact, rising swiftly. To my complete surprise, she flips away nearly as quickly, darting off behind a pillar. I use the sound of her gasping breaths to find her in the dark, but despite the hits she's taken, she's as fast as ever, dodging and ducking.

"So the big bad man can play dirty, after all," she says as soon as she gets far enough from me to risk talking. She gasps a lungful of air and takes off again, bending to scoop up the bag. I quickly realize that she's going to make a break for it, and I hurtle towards her.

She finds the tied grapple line before I can reach her, and, slinging the bag over her shoulder by use of its strap, she begins to scale it with an agility that belongs to… well, a cat. Realizing that I won't catch her if I climb, I use the grapple gun and let it tow me through the skylight to the roof.

She's fast. She's already made it out, and as I land, she breaks in the opposite direction. I give chase, knowing that she has no choice but to stop at the roof's edge—but, once again, she exceeds my expectations. She vaults off the side. _Is she suicidal?_

I make it to the edge in time to see her land on a fire escape, much as I had during my first little excursion. Even as I fling myself off of the rooftop, sending a current through the cape, I wonder at her stamina—I'm willing to bet that she has a cracked rib or two, and her jaw can't feel that good after the trauma it suffered.

She climbs. I follow. She runs. I follow. She leads me on a long chase, nearly losing me once or twice, but never managing to shake me completely. Finally, I find the bag, abandoned on a rooftop as she flings herself over the edge.

I slide to a stop; stoop to pick up the bag. I carefully rifle through it. It looks like everything's accounted for. Meditatively, I look up to where she'd disappeared seconds earlier. Now, all I've got on her is breaking and entering.

With a sigh, I straighten, turning to head back to the museum. Judging by the outfit, I'd say that I've gained myself a new annoyance. I know that this isn't over. I know she'll be back.

And next time, I won't underestimate her.

_**Fin**_

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**A/N** – Forgive me for the title, guys; I usually can't resist bad puns. _The Prestige_ is out today, so run out and treat yourself to some Christian Bale, Michael Caine, and David Bowie! Catwoman was based on the comic-book Catwoman, hence the purple suit. Hey, it's loads better than that horrid Batman Returns version. Why on earth did they make every Batman-girl blonde till Rachel Dawes? Selina Kyle's hair is black! Black, I tell you! Or at least very, very dark brown.

Oh, on the subject of the challenge, Philippa also chose option number one and produced a lovely one-shot. Scurry over and read hers, if you haven't already!


End file.
